How Putin Somehow Managed to Hold the Gayest Olympics in Ever
by ixxie42
Summary: The title says enough... AU, OOC, crackfic, and so much slash... Basically me ruining the Olympics by writing all the weird things that come into my head at 2 AM. Please R&R!
1. In the beginning

_**An Olympics Fanfiction—"How Putin Somehow Managed to Hold the Gayest Olympics in Ever"**_

_A sidenote: no... well. Little disrepect. I am well aware that this AU and sadly is not what happened. It is also not true. And so forth. _

**Section 1:** In which Putin clapped

_How the weirdest Olympics in ever began_

We start off with a big-ass ceremony.

The Overlord Putin sat on his throne sculpted of living Ukrainians high above, clapping like a lady the way his mommy taught him, and watched his debacle unfold, made possible with money enough to support several hundred dying nations.

With a cutesily edited version of historical events (how nice would it be if history was a bunch of people in costume dancing about in a choreographed nature) the opening ceremony commenced. Putin continued to clap.

As the snowflake Olympic ring thingies were all opened with the exception of one, an engineer's family was executed messily.

The nations came out, some in horrible color schemes, the rest in horrible color schemes, and paraded about. The human marshmallows that Putin had dragged out of Siberian camps on the charge that they dance and don't stop dancing were dancing for the entirety of the parade. The ones that stopped dancing about were executed. While the peasantry of the US was astounded as to why the countries were coming out in what appeared to non-alphabetical order, they were even more confused when they heard the explanation. Azerbaijan. Some stuff the narrator has no need to mention. A happy man waved around a flag all by himself. Great Britain (the peasants became confused. Cyrillic? they asked in puzzlement). Germany. Many people went blind because of those Germans and their rainbowness (the first sign of what will go down in history as Gayest Olympics Ever). Men in little shorts walked out. Lots of people went blind from this, too. Still, Putin clapped.

Then. The Ukraine. Putin clapped less.

The 230 US peoples appeared, decked out in some hecka groovy Christmas sweaters. Putin did some math, and then hurriedly selected three random people from the crowd, gave them appropriate garb, and shoved them into the Russian delegation so that the Russians would have 232 people. Take that, you darned Americans.

Putin clapped.


	2. Hit Me

**A/N:** Soooo here we are. I feel like this second chapter represent this story better... Hmm well. Enjoy!

**Section 2:** Hit me

_In which the gay begins!_

We fast-forward randomly to the US-Russia hockey game for no logical reason.

Putin was watching, as he always is, shifting about on his throne made of Ukrainians as he mentally plotted the death of his beloved hockey team if they were not going to win.

The person who noticed that the net was slightly out-of-place was going to be made into shoes, Putin decided as he glared at the game.

It went to a shoot-out.

Putin wanted to throw his throne at the damn Americans, but settled for praying. Praying that the Americans would spontaneously erupt into flame.

"YOU GONNA MISSSSSS," the Russian goalie with the name that cannot be remembered by the narrator (A/N many days later: BOBROVSKY! AHA!) screamed.

TJ Oshie danced about, shouting, "LALALALALALALA I CAN'T HEARRRRR YOUUUUU."

The goalie made a horrible face, and did that useless pointing-at-the-sky gesture thingy. "HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOTTTTTT."

We shall return to the Farce on Ice in a small moment. MEANWHILE, TO THE NON-CHRONOLOGICALLY FUNCTIONING SET OF SKI-JUMPING

Putin was through with ski jumping. He had blackmailed angels into lifting up Mikhail Maksimochkin and that was all Putin could expend the energy of doing.

It was another evening of anorexic young men hurtling about Russki Gorki slope. After a few fallacious commentators and a bunch of attempts at whatever a 'stylish' landing is, it was the turn of Kamil Stoch, whom everyone was secretly making fun of. Something along the lines of 'well the ski slope is the only girl he'll ever get'.

"KISS ME, MOTHERF*CKAHHHHHHHHH," Kamil screamed as he flew down the hill. Unfortunately, his girlfriend Russki Gorki decided he should die, and he crashed and completely wiped out when he landed.

"OHHH MY," went the announcers in a failing Takei attempt.

"I don't like _women_," Kamil sobbed, and passed away shortly thereafter with those as his dying words.

Since Putin didn't care if there were corpses littering his Olympics, Kamil Stoch's body was left on the slope, and the rest of competitors took it upon themselves to play a new game, entitled "Who Can Jump and Land on the Cray-Cray Polish Guy". Extra points if you squished him.

BACK TO LE FARCE ON ICE

TJ Oshie and the Russian goalie with unpronounceable name like Bobrobrobrobrobrobrorborborbvosky were still going at it, but there was no score so far. Either TJ missed because he was being screamed at, or because the goalie saved it, the occurrences of which were about even-ish, considering that the goalie had the severe incapability of talking quietly.

"SEEEEEEEE, YOU CAN'T BEAT MEEEEEE," the Russian guy shouted, waving his arms about. "I BLOCK _YOUR_ SHOT! IFFFFFFF YOU KNOW WHAT I _MEAN_."

TJ Oshie sniffled and turned away dejectedly. "Don't you love me?"

There was a terminal silence.

"Whut," went the crowd.

"DAFUQ," went Putin, stamping on his Ukrainian throne in shock and most certainly not clapping indeed.

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?" went the hockey teams, scratching their heads and staring on vacantly.

The Russian's goalie, however, reconsidered noisily. "I DOOOO… OMG YAAAAS I DO."

They sobbed at their sudden realization of their feelings and non-straightness. "HIT ME WITH YOUR ROCKET," Sergei Bobrovsky begged, and TJ didn't not.

The crowd stood in absolute horrified silence as they went at it. The other players just stood there not understanding what was happening.

Then there was the most riotously rejoicing cheering ever heard.

BACK TO THE SKI-CORPSE-JUMPING

A figure appeared on the crest of the hill.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO," cried the Alpine skier Aksel Lund Svindal in agony, tearing across the snow. "MY KAMIIIIIIIL!" He stopped short, gaping, at his precious lil' wonderboy's broken and quite thoroughly dead body.

At that moment, Severin Freund jumped from the top of the hill, and landed squarely on Kamil Stoch.

"SQUISH!" exclaimed Severin triumphantly, and skied away.

Aksel wiped said squish off his face, forever traumatized. He walked, dazed, over to his dead and therefore former love and knelt.

"WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY," screamed Aksel Lund Svindal, cliché-esquely.


	3. Even Weirder

**Section Three: **AND YET MORE SHIPPING

In no chronological order whatsoever, the competition for World's Most Sequin-y Costume began. This event was previously known as the men's single division in the Team Ice-Skating.

We start out with a bamf Russian guy.

The crowd cheered in deafening decibels as the music began. To their surprise, there is no music except a background instrumental. Lo and behold, Yevgeyvingnigyngyngibgjgbkufb Plushenko is going to be singing _and_ skating.

"I'mmmmm a diva diva diva diva diva diva diva diva diva diva diva diva diva diva diva-diva-diva-diva-diva diva diva diva diva diva-diva-diva," Plushenko sang. This continued for the entirety of his program. "I'M A DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" he finished grandly.

The judges looked at each other. The crowd looked at each other. Plushenko looked at himself, via his reflection in the ice, because there's nothing he loves more.

"Oh what the hell," everyone decided, and resumed cheering.

We skip now to the plague crawling amongst Sochi.

Reporters. Scourge of the earth.

With no regard for decency, respect, or anything non-inhumane, they frolicked about the Olympics in search of the best stories, the best sound-bites and images, looking for people whom they could upset.

Putin almost—_almost—_ approved of this.

Regardless, one of the vermin found an acceptable target. "SOOOOOOOOOOOOO," screeched the reporter. "YOU HAVE DEAD FAMILY MEMBER? YOU WANT TELL ME ABOUT DEAD PERSON? HOW IT MAKE YOU FEEL? IS YOU SAD?"

A bunch of people started to beat the reporter with sticks.

The crowd cheered.

BACK TO THE WORLD'S SPARKLY COSTUME PARTY

There was a lot of ritzy going on in the skating center. So much ritzy that Putin wondered if he had in fact done his job and had kept all those horrifying threats to his national security (gays!) out of his country.

(Now you see, even though there were terror threats and bombings and all that, Putin had thoroughly decided that the gays were the most dangerous.)

The sparkliness was uncontainable. All the skaters had decided they should just skate about in the middle for no evident reason.

"THIS ONE IS CALLED _THE PRANCE_!" exclaimed Yuzuru Hanyu happily, and demonstrated.

"THIS ONE IS CALLED—SKATE TWERKING!" Jeremy Abott yelled cheerily, and demonstrated also. Soon, all the skaters were self-choreographing a program called 'Nations Unite—Twerkers on Ice' while the crowd videotaped them. Putin sulked on his throne, and debated calling upon some of his slaves to carry him away.

Suddenly, and for no explanation whatsoever, Marcus Hellner and Peter Prevc ran into the Ice Palace, or whatever the hell it's called (that's a ritzy name, eh?).

"TOO. MUCH. HOTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT," Marcus Hellner, le extraordinaire, exclaimed when he laid eyes upon the line of twerking men. He collapsed, a groveling heap, to the ground.

"Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" Peter squealed, like a fangirl, as he stared most blatantly at Yuzuru. Peter Prevc ran over and tried to make out with his Japanese boytoy, but was pushed away.

"NO YOU CAN'T!" Yuzuru cried. "_THE PUTIN IS WATCHING!_" The boys looked up in horror.

High above, Putin frowned.


	4. And We Continue

**Section Four:** the perils of non-sparkly skating

It has been a much noted fact among every moderately judgmental-y person in the world—cough the narrator's ridiculous family cough—that there is rather quite a severe case of androgyny plaguing several Olympic-type sports, none more obvious than what is known as Speedskating.

The athletes in said skating devote their lives to spinning endless little circles about in a rink, and such devotion leads to, shall we say, a particular musculature.

In the thoughts of Putin as he was dragged out there once; '_Holy Christ they have huge butts. Their upper bodies are so anorexic BUT THEIR FRICKING BUTTS!'._

This, in combination with those suit-thingies the US is always bitching about, and the fact that the skates make the guys look like they're wearing heels, lends all competitors an extreme hermaphroditic quality, as presented when NBCeee accidentally broadcasted a men's speedskating event as that of the women's.

"Okay, open your eyes for me!" a make-up specialist nattered as she brandished a mascara brush.

"WHAT THE F*CKKK," Sven Kramer shouted as he tried to fend off the lady's attacks. "GET AWAY FROM ME, I AM NOT A WOMAN."

"Not until you get this lipstick on ya!" the lady cheered, holding him down.

"LKSHNFSOINV NO." Sven tried to push her away but she had cornered him. Meanwhile, the announcer calmly called his name for him to skate.

"There ya are! You look gorgeous!"

"NOW I HAVE TO GO ON NATIONAL TV WITH GIRL'S _MAKE-UP_!" he raged, and stormed off to go race. He finished with the fastest time in the world by about ten seconds, and ran away to wash off the make-up and pout.

"What a sweet little girl," the make-up lady sighed.

MEANWHILE (THOUGH NOT ACTUALLY CHRONOLOGICALLY MEANWHILE) IN THE SHORT-TRACK ARENA THING, A BUNCH OF MEN IN WEIRD SUITS ARE ABOUT TO DO SOMETHING. I DUNNO, LIKE. RACE. OR SOMETHING.

"I'mmmm A PRETTY PRETTY PRINCESSSSS!" Vladimir Grigoryiev exclaimed happily, waving to the crowd. The onlookers rejoiced wildly, only caring that, even if he may be originally Ukrainian, he now had on the strange paisley of Russia. Putin had idle fantasies about sculpting Grigoryiev into the headrest of this throne.

Viktor Ahn was there, too, and the crowd loved him equally, but he was asking people if they liked his new gingerishness hairstyle.

There was, among hordes of Asian skaters, also one more Russian man, whom the announcers took scrupulous care to avoid saying the name of. Unfortunately, one NBCeee commentator messed up, and slipped. "OMG, LOOK AT ELISTRATOV! Semen Elistratov (LEGIT NAME) is—I mean… Elistratov…"

It was too late. Everyone in the race stopped short and stared.

"Eremgeeeeee," Han Tianyu drawled as everyone laughed stupidly. "Das so. WEIIIRD."

"Hehehe yur namee's—" one of the other peoples scoffed—some Korean with a name like Bin. "HAH DATS SO STURPIDDDD HAH AHAHAAAAA."

The crowd laughed. The TV audiences were laughing like peasantry galore. Even the other short track skaters were laughing.

The poorly-named Russian guy skated away as fast as he could, crying.

Viktor Ahn went on to win, as he always does, and re-dyed his hair a newer, celebratory, shade of even more gingerishness.

He and Vladimir linked arms. "WE ARE THE POWER-PUFF GIRLS!" they cheered. The crowd went nuts.

Suddenly Jason Brown skated over even though he was supposed to be in the Sparkles Competition. "HEEEEEEEEYYYY SEXAY," he said to Vladimir Grigoryiev, who turned around and shunned him instantly.

Viktor, however, though the comment was for him, and he giggled and attempted to twirl a piece of his new ginger hair. "Aww, you're such a—" He was cut short when Jason started singing a love ballad to the secretly happy Vladimir.

"I'M SO ALONEEEE," Viktor wailed, and sobbed away.

Please R&amp;R!


End file.
